


Feather Star Bursts From The Form

by GothMoth



Series: Phantom Phang Phucking Phreaking Phantastical Phabulous Phic Phight Phics 1.0 (The 2019 Edition Revamped) [9]
Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: (mild though), Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Gen, Graphic Description, Growing A Pair Of Wings In The Span Of A Few Minutes Would Actually Probably Be Horrifying, Growing Wings, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutilation, Poetic, Winged Danny, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28021191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GothMoth/pseuds/GothMoth
Summary: Wings to comfort a hero but nothing comes for free
Series: Phantom Phang Phucking Phreaking Phantastical Phabulous Phic Phight Phics 1.0 (The 2019 Edition Revamped) [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1994581
Comments: 4
Kudos: 68





	Feather Star Bursts From The Form

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Illusn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illusn/gifts).



> Previously: 922

The crack and pop stings, as flesh begins to splinter and tear away.

Some blood splattering up only to crash back down across his screaming back.

Screaming that it was too full, that what had grown must make its debut.

Thicker blood slowly oozing down from the growing wounds, filling the lavender-scented room with a counterpoint of metal and sweet berries, as he kneels hunched in the tub.

Hands weakly gripping the faucet as they tear out, each blood coated feather pushing out as he hunches over more and more; as if to curl into the pain running as though it is a wildfire raging through his veins.

Willing it to do what it must, as droplets of blood spring from each emerging feather, to go splattering across him or the surrounding bathroom surfaces.

Each new feather that flicks the open wounds, shooting lightning bolts of sharp pain across his back.

With jolt and boom the left one smashing into tiles, cracking and splintering all the little squares.

Leaving the loosened skin to snap back against ribs and spine. The right extends out and flops on top of the countertop. Leaving behind a red streak as it tumbles from the counter to the floor, as that skin too sucks back into place.

Panting, he fumbles numbly for the nob, turning it to spray water down his bleeding torn up back.

He stares down at the drain as red swirls and swirls, down and down.

There’s the occasional bubble or foaming, bursting on contact with the drain itself.

As it washes away forever out of his sight.

The onslaught of water comes with pinpricks of pain, and makes his new feathers twitch and grow heavier with the weight of that which is meant to cleanse.

He slides his hands and arms weakly down from the faucet and slumps, chest to knees, in the tub.

While his back slowly meshes itself back together, tingles and pulls, as flesh rejoins flesh; finding new connections being formed.

He twitches and jerks them as new nerves arrive, connect, and spasm.

Bones connecting with pops and a feeling of weight.

He lays with his face to the bottom of the tub, bloody water slowly turning more clear, rushing around and past his face to its downwards destination.

He stays like that unblinking, watching the blood water rush to and hit his left eye. Any discomfort nothing to previous pain and the now settling ache.

The feeling of muscles having just been ran through by barbed wire, the maddening cry to just move them.

Pieces of tile cascade down into his tub, some to stay where they fall and others to rush down.

Spasming with new muscles that send pulses rattling through his skull, demands to be moved; he groans and moves to put his forehead to the bottom of the tub.

Slowing curling in what has sprouted, the size and weight of them surrounding his form as the entirety of them now find themselves pounded with cleansing water.

The water becomes more red as it washes down the, previously dried and crusted with blood, feathers.

Once stuck together feathers flicking apparently free from the encasing blood.

He shivers as he feels each one frill out and feels feathers on skin for the first time.

Hundreds of wet paint blushes lash against his skin and prick the healing wounds.

Face turned on its side again he slowly inches the peak of one up to his face, letting its feathers lightly brush his nose.

Feathers white faintly glowing, meet his eyes, his eyes widen as he watches them shimmer and water droplets glisten over the grove of each feather.

Akin to staring into a vast skying of white with twinkling stars, bending and vibrating the new limb to make them twinkle more and more.

He sniffs tentatively, greeted by cherry blossoms and freshly baked bread.

Two scents intermingling like a dance on air made sweeter by the ever lingering reminder of pain.

The falling water grows cold as he pulls his hands over his head and heaves himself up by the faucet.

Slapping an out of focus hand against the nob and spinning to cease the chilled waters descent.

He flops his right arm over the tub's side, then his chin and drags himself out. Landing unceremoniously on his back in a tangle of wet skin and heavy feathers.

New connections are yanked by the tumble, sending waves of new pain.

Turning to his right he places his hands into the feathers, pushing them through roughly; the feeling of clouds and soft cotton done a disservice by their wetness.

Water flicks off, splashing to his face as he rubs over the feathers.

Slow at first then more frantically, seeking to touch everything.

To know the unique bend, length or twist of every one.

The left one dragging its point through his hair producing the feeling of static meeting thread, strands of hair catching in the groves of feathers.

Exhaustedly he slumps down into the right one on the floor, closing the left over top himself.

The weight of it settling over his side pushing down like the weight of a freshly dried new blanket after too many sleepless nights inside a body wracked with aches, bruises, breaks, cuts, and tears.

Letting it pull over his face, the right one that he lays upon curling around the left; cocooning him in puffy feather clouds, darkness, and silence.

As his mind casts adrift to stars and skies, lost in the unexpected and unexplained feathery comfort created for a body destroyed by heroism. 

**End.**

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Of all the things Danny was expecting to come with being half-ghost, wings weren't one of them.


End file.
